


Spoils of War

by freetheelves2



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-28
Updated: 2006-03-28
Packaged: 2018-08-23 22:12:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8344738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freetheelves2/pseuds/freetheelves2
Summary: This was a serene existence now. He had won, no one had died, and he had traded his power for the elixir that would return him to normal.





	

This was a serene existence now. He had won, no one had died, and he had traded his power for the elixir that would return him to normal. 

That, and _her_. 

Of course, she didn’t know it yet. They had taken peace and tranquility without flinching once, pulling back the wailing Potter boy after he had kicked and screamed that they were letting _him_ take _his_ Hermione, and that this wasn’t right. 

But they had wanted this to just end. So they had readily conceded her. 

He took a deep breath as he took in her scent. She was still unconscious in his arms, and they had almost reached the old Riddle House. But he didn’t want to go inside. Not just yet. 

Ever since he was almost destroyed, he had seen… _something_. Something had been different. He held a new appreciation for life. 

That, and he had seen her for the first time at that moment. 

She had been standing, her wand held up high, magic coursing through and around her whole body, so alive with it. There was something in her eyes as she fired this charm and this incantation at her opponent, occasionally dodging the one that was coming up behind her, the really persistent one that she could seem to shake off. Her hair practically stood on end; her clothing was tattered and torn and dirty, her knees were bloodied and she had lost control of her left arm, but she was still going, jumping around like a wood nymph, elusive and free and so full of power and vivacity for life. She had a spirit within her that wouldn’t die. 

And right then he had realized something. He had realized that he had turned himself into a monster, no less, and had taken every chance of revival away from himself. 

She could never love him. 

The thought incensed him to the point where he jumped up from his near-death state and pinned Potter down, leaving him at his mercy. He had almost killed him, when something struck him. An idea. 

He had won the battle. All of the Aurors were losing their battles – all of them but her – and he could have had the world. 

And instead, he made a deal with all of them. Settled a contract. He would get whatever he asked for, as long as he let them continue living in a democratic peace. 

Everyone had expected it when he asked for his youth back. No one had expected it when he asked for _her_. 

And yet, somehow they had managed to give him both. From then on it had taken him a total of five seconds to apparate away and disappear from them forever, finding himself again on the hill about ten minutes from the old Riddle House, her in his arms, unconscious from the potion they had given her. She would remember little. 

He would make her love him like he loved her, and they would start a family in that old house, and start anew – even change the whole thing, redecorating it until they both liked it and felt it would be good enough for newborn babies to live in. They would make new friends and have classy parties every Saturday, sometimes inviting their friends over for tea or cake on just a whim. They would teach their children everything they knew until they could release them and feel good about it. They would make sweet love every single night, only before falling asleep in each others’ arms, his protectively around her, so no one else could touch her. They would talk deep into the night sometimes about this or that, but the subject wouldn’t even really matter, because what mattered was that they would be with each other, and that made any conversation unnecessary anyway. And they would grow old together, happy and content, and they would die – yes, die – because that was all right, as long as he could do it in her arms, with her. They would live like he never had gotten the chance to. 

Deep inside he knew that had he met her in 1944, he wouldn’t have gone down the same road he had. But that didn’t matter anymore. None of that mattered anymore. Because for the simple price of freedom, he had been given a chance to live, really live.

He didn’t take her into the house to lay her down on the dusty four-poster bed just yet. He had to stop somewhere else first. 

His dreaded father had caused him so much trouble, but he was dead now. Untouchable. But what was touchable was his grave, the angel of death guarding over it, black roses all around, the word Riddle written out in large letters. 

He sat down solemnly on his father’s grave without taking any heed, his Helen in his arms, her body only covered in masses of fabric. They had tied her hands in case she might escape from him, but he didn’t want her to be a captive. He wanted her to love him. 

It took him dreadfully long, but he took his time, as he ever so slowly unearthed the creature underneath all the fabric, trying not to wake her just yet. The pieces of fabric hung down around her body, covering her shoulders and her legs, but leaving most everything else for him to see. 

She was beautiful. 

Her skin was pale and soft, practically flawless to his eyes, and the rest of her body went along with the image of perfection she held to him. She breasts were perfect, her nipples pert and almost a sort of rosy coral color. They would fit into his hands absolutely perfectly. Right below the most wonderful navel he had ever laid eyes upon was hair, her hair, brown and bushy and concealing what her hands could not, even fast asleep like she was. 

His eyes closed when he felt her head pressing further into the crook of his neck. He smelled her hair – it smelled of vanilla and lavender, and he cradled her closer, as if it was the natural thing to do. 

Fumbling for his wand with his right hand taking great care to not wake her, he muttered a charm to release her bonds, and when her hands immediately went to his chest, snuggling even closer, he took the hand and gently stroked it over her cheek until her eyelids were fluttering softly, but she didn’t wake.

“I don’t ever want to lose you,” he whispered, and took her hand in his. 

He wasn’t sure whether it had just been his phantom imagination, but Tom could have sworn she had whispered back to him. 

“You won’t.”


End file.
